Avenging Angel
by aliceann
Summary: A madman comes back into Neal and Peter's lives with terrifying and tragic results. Set after the season 4 finale. This is a sequel to an earlier story of mine, Angel. This fiction is dark with graphic depictions of violence, character deaths and rated T for language. It is not for the faint of heart. You don't have to have read the first story to get into this one, hopefully.
1. Chapter 1

Avenging Angel

Chapter 1

Neal closed his eyes again and the picture came back: Peter shackled and in prison. He opened his eyes. His head hurt. It'd been two months since Peter's disgrace and demotion, but it seemed liked yesterday. The Bureau decided after thirteen fucking years of service he deserved rehabilitation. At the hearing clearing him of all charges, Amanda Calloway said Peter would have to earn her trust. Prove himself worthy of his former position.

Trust was something Neal knew little about. When you've never had it, you spend a lot of time trying to prove it or disprove it like some mathematical theorem. His success rate was uninspiring. None the less, he trusted Peter Burke with his life. And what Amanda Calloway wanted had nothing to do with trust. She wanted Peter drummed out of the Bureau and him back in prison.

Peter, the eternal optimist, said they had to take it easy, be smart. He couldn't protect him now. He was more concerned with Neal going to prison than his own career. So for the time being, they played the cards they were dealt, but his heart wasn't in it. This was a con he couldn't embrace.

The headache that had taken up permanent residence in his temporal lobe demanded his full attention. He got up slowly and stepped into the kitchen. The headache made him nauseous; keeping anything down more than toast, tea and a handful of ibuprofen was an ongoing struggle.

He looked at the clock it was close to 2 am. He needed sleep. But that wasn't in the cards either, that psychopath Collins had been calling him the last week in the middle of the god damn night. As if life weren't crappy enough, now this nut case had resurfaced. He laid his palm on the counter top and watched the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers. He laughed.

Mozzie, after way too much tequila, once told him he was perfect. Said God was giving with both hands when he made him. He laughed at the idea that anyone would think him perfect. Perfect? Not a chance, not even close.

However leave it to Moz. He also reminded him anyone blessed by the God's were subject to curses, divine retribution…a cosmic loophole. Maybe Moz was partly onto something, the curse thing had some currency. Kate was dead and so was Ellen, James was gone, Peter's life was in ruins and much of what he had built was torn down by the revenge that consumed him. He was a patient man, one of his many talents; one he knew he hadn't inherited from James. He'd made a plan, set a trap and waited. James walked right in and now he was back in prison where he belonged.

Turned out he was as ruthless as his old man after all, a trait he apparently did inherit. He thought he would take some comfort in bringing him down, settling the score; he was wrong. The ibuprofen was starting to work; the pain in his head was getting to manageable levels. The phone rang. Collins.

"What can I do for you tonight Agent Collins?"

"Cut the crap Caffrey. You know why I'm calling."

"Rehab not working? You know you're going about this making amends thing all wrong. You might want to talk to your sponsor."

"You're a regular comic. I hear it's a barrel of laughs over at the White Collar Division. Ratting out your old man to save your ass, that's fucked up… even for you. "

Neal took a steadying breath. He's not in the mood for this tonight. He can hear Peter's voice rattling around in his drugged brain, "Don't do anything stupid." Like egging on a homicidal maniac, he stayed quiet.

"What's the matter Caffrey, cat got that silver tongue of yours?"

He could hear Collins breathing pick up, obviously excited by his "witty" comeback. All he had to do was wait out that smug bastard, soon enough he'd drift off into an alcohol induce stupor and end tonight's tirade.

"You know a lot of good men have gone down because of your bullshit; Fowler, Kramer, Hughes. You fuck over people for a living. That reminds me, how's your boyfriend Burke holding up?"

"You're the one drunk calling me at 2 am. I thought **you** were my boyfriend," so much for not doing anything stupid.

"Watch your mouth, you little shit; before I come over there and teach your sorry ass a lesson. When I finish with you you're gonna be begging me to stop."

"That sounds hot."

"Fuck you, Caffrey! You think you're so clever, so fucking funny. You won't be laughing when I snap your scrawny neck. I should have finished you when I had the chance."

"Yeah, you're a regular hero when you have someone handcuffed," Neal laughed.

"You don't know who you're fucking with Caffrey. I am a hero, the genuine article. I'm a fucking special agent of the FBI. You're nothing! Less than nothing, a fucking liability! You're a dead man! You hear me! You're…."

The line went dead.

Neal felt his nausea return, along with a certain amount of trepidation. He knew Collins was more than capable of following through on his threat. He ran his fingers along the barely noticeable scar on his thigh. He needed a drink. The vodka helped.

He woke from a fitful sleep around 4 in the morning needing to relieve himself and shuffled to the bathroom. The remnants of the vodka left him a little unsteady on his feet. As he made his way back to bed, he thought he saw something in the shadows near the balcony door. A shiver went up his spine. He could still hear Collins threat echoing through his brain. His mind was messing with him clearly.

He cursed himself for letting that rat bastard rattle him. No way could Collins be out there, most likely scenario he was somewhere passed out drunk. He was safe. He climbed into bed pulled the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes as his body quieted, settling into a deep dreamless sleep. He never heard the footsteps on his balcony.

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The next morning, Neal stood at the entrance to the White Collar Division looking through the glass doors. The world had changed. It was still a jolt to see Diana in Peter's office. She refused at first. It was Peter naturally, who ended up convincing her to accept it. He put on a smile he didn't feel, squared his shoulders and glided into the offices.

His desk was freshly stacked with cold mortgage cases courtesy Assistant Director Amanda Calloway. To complete Peter's humiliation his desk was now set to the back in the section relegated to probies.

Neal asked that at least Peter be given his desk. However, the new AD had other plans. She wanted Neal front and center as a cautionary tale for all who entered. Involvement with him would lead to their ruin, a certain path to career suicide. The desk he was once so proud to claim, was now his scarlet letter.

He made himself a coffee and one for Peter, who was already deep into a stack of cold cases.

"How you holding up?"

"From the looks of it, I should be asking you that." Peter's eyes narrowed, noticing the shading under his friend's eyes.

"I'm fine, just peachy. I see the dragon lady's been busy; he nodded to the stack of cases. What, did she send over to Jersey?" hoping the misdirection would shake off Peter's scrutiny.

Diana came up, trying to suppress a grin as she watched the finely tuned choreography of detection and misdirection. The easy repartee, the genuine smile on her boss's face, it had been missing too long. She hated to break it up.

"The AD's called a meeting. Violent Crimes wants our take on a case and she wants both of you."

"The both of us?" Peter looked up curiously. If the AD so much as thought he and Neal were having anything more than a three minute chat, she hauled him in to acquaint him again of the rules regarding their conduct in the office. She wanted them separated.

Neal cleared his throat pointedly, pulling Peter out of thoughts he hadn't realized he slipped into.

"What?"

Neal pulled out his cell, "I'm checking Google news to see if the flying pigs have made their way to midtown. You and me in the same room, and on an FBI case. I knew she would come to her senses."

"Don't get a head of yourself J Edgar. Let's see what this is about."

When they get to the large conference room, everyone is already seated. Jones moves over and makes a place for Peter at the conference table. Neal perches on the sill of the window across from him. There is a blank screen up. Then the AD enters with a tall brunette.

"This is Agent Margaret Grace, eastern director of the Violent Crimes Division. We will be providing assistance on their current case. Agent Grace, if you would bring everyone up to date."

Everyone had heard of her, even Neal. Agent Margaret Grace widely respected, tough as nails, brilliant profiler, Quantico's best. Her rise through the old boys club of the FBI had been nothing less than meteroric. He hoped this might be something he and Peter could be involved in; it's just what Peter needed, a puzzle to crack, a chase and a brilliant mind to play off. He was starting to feel excited. It didn't hurt that Margaret Grace was stunning.

"I'm sure all of you are familiar with MacLeish a former FBI's most wanted, his picture flashed on the screen. He was arrested and taken into custody last year. Two days ago he was murdered in a holding cell while waiting transfer to a maximum federal prison upstate. As you all know, MacLeish was apprehended by Agent Kyle Collins with the assistance of Agent Burke while securing Mr. Caffrey's return."

Calloway turns to Peter. "I have asked Agent Burke and Mr. Caffrey to join us. This is Neal Caffrey and Agent Burke his former handler."

"Hi Peter," Agent Grace says looking at Peter.

"Maggie," Peter nods.

Neal sees an expression cross Peter's face, a look…..one that is only reserved for Elizabeth. His antenna goes up, way up.

"So you know Agent Burke then? "asks Calloway.

"Yes Agent Burke and I go back, way back. He was my supervisor when I was first recruited. The best supervisor and agent the department has ever had, in my opinion." Jones gave an emphatic nod. "I'm glad to have you both on board," she looked from Peter to Neal.

Maggie Grace was a tall, athletic brunette with piercing blue eyes that almost came close to Kate's in intensity. She was Elizabeth without the unabashed sexuality. Peter had a type; brainy, blue eyed brunettes. Neal grinned inwardly.

"The manner in which MacCleish was killed is consistent with the MO of a serial killer we have been tracking. Ambrose Snow's picture was up next. We have been tracking Mr. Snow since his escape from prison. As you are aware, Mr. Snow was involved with and almost apprehended by your Division last year."

Peter saw Neal flinch the moment Snow's name was mentioned. It was a complicated case for them. Neal still felt haunted by it and felt responsible for him being injured. It wasn't his fault. Ambrose Snow would have certainly killed him. Neal saved his life that day on the roof.

"We tracked Mr. Snow to Cape Verde last year. He arrived there, we believe shortly after Mr. Caffrey came to the island. He fell off the grid until MacLeish's murder. There was one other murder on the island that we have tied to Snow, a local businesswoman." She pointed to the screen and a woman's face appeared. Neal's eyes widened. Then the next slide of the crime scene caused a gasp from the veteran agents in the room. Neal's coffee cup slid through his fingers and crashed to the ground.

"God, Maya." He fled the room.

Peter was on his feet.

"Peter?" Maggie looked puzzled.

"Maya was Neal's friend."

Peter found Neal in the men's room, bending over the row of sinks. His hand was clapped over his mouth as he tried not to be sick. He was pale and shaking.

"Neal, I'm so sorry."

"Why? She was innocent; she had nothing to do with this. She didn't deserve that, his hand went to his stomach. What could Ambrose possibly want with her? She was no danger to me."

"We will find out what happened." Peter placed his hand on his friends shoulder to steady him.

Diana eased into the room.

"You Ok?" She looked at Neal, who had his arms wrapped around himself. "Boss, the AD sent me. They need you both back in there."

"Boss?" he looked at her knowingly.

"Sorry, habit."

"Neal's going home," Peter said flatly.

"Peter, that's not necessary. I'm OK now and besides I want to help."

"No discussion. Until we find out what's going on your not safe. I'm having a detail placed at June's and…."

Neal and Dianna looked at him as he slowly came to the realization, he didn't call the shots anymore. He couldn't ensure Neal's safety. He smiled at them sadly.

"Sorry, habit."

"It's OK. I'll have someone take Neal home and set up the detail at June's. But for now I think you need to get back to the meeting, boss."

As Peter walked away, Neal turned to Diana. "It's not me he has to worry about. I'm not the one that's unsafe."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The meeting ended on time, people had their assignments and were clearing out. Diana finished bringing Peter up to speed on Neal when Maggie looked across the room and smiled. Somehow, he felt better.

She hadn't changed in all this time. Closer to forty than thirty now, but it didn't show. She was a woman who could take care of herself, he hoped she was. This case was a bear, the kind that could make or break a career. A high profile detainee slaughtered right under the Bureau's nose. Someone would be made to answer, someone was going to pay. He didn't want it to be Maggie. He didn't want it to be Neal.

"Peter, how's he doing?" Maggie asked as she joined him and Diana.

"As well as expected."

"I wish he hadn't seen that," her eyes filled with concern.

"I know. It's been a rough couple of months, everything that went on with his father, the hearing. He's been running on empty, not that he would ever say. And now this….I just worry about him."

"I can see that. I hear it hasn't been all that easy for you either." She read the shared concern in Agent Berrigan's face. Before she could go on, AD Calloway walked up on the small group.

"Where's Caffrey?" she looked at Diana.

"Neal's gone home," Peter answered.

"I wasn't asking you, Peter."

"I sent Neal home, he was pretty shaken up and I didn't think he would be of much use in the meeting," Diana offered.

"OK, but make sure he is here for tomorrow's briefing."

"I'm not sure Mr. Caffrey should be working this case. He's too involved," Maggie broke in.

"I appreciate your concern, but Mr. Caffrey needs to start paying for his keep and sometimes pressure can yield results. And by the way Diana, I cancelled the detail you set up at his landlady's."

"That's a mistake," Peter bristled. "Snow will attempt to make contact with Neal. He has some twisted, delusional idea that they are connected… that Neal is his ticket to redemption. He's not safe."

"We don't even know that Snow is here. Before we expend anymore of the Bureau's finances, we need credible evidence that Caffrey is in jeopardy. Agent Grace, have you established positively that Ambrose Snow is in the city?"

"No, we haven't, she placed a steadying hand on Peter's arm. But as agent Burke said, our profile gives every indication Snow will seek out and attempt to contact Neal Caffrey."

"Come to me when we have more to go on. Until then, Agent Berrigan as his handler, I want you to keep a close eye on Mr. Caffrey and report to me. Agent Burke I believe you have case files that need your attention."

"I'm sorry AD Calloway, but I've gotten clearance to have Agent Burke assist me on this case. It's the Bureau's top priority and I've been authorized to marshal whatever resources necessary to bring a speedy resolution. He knows Snow and Mr. Caffrey was his CI. And you have to admit, Peter's track record in apprehending fleeing fugitives is impressive."

"Okay, but I am going to need daily reports."

Peter could barely suppress a grin as Calloway walked away.

"Did you really get clearance for me to work with you?"

"No, but I will."

"You haven't changed."

"What? A little improvisation, just like you taught me."

"I didn't have to teach you anything."

"Like hell. Peter, is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Take my office, Diana suggested. I'm going to catch up with Jones. But I have to say that was ten kinds of awesome." Peter had his _don't encourage her_ face on. "Just saying," Diana smiled.

Peter and Maggie walked the few steps over to the office he occupied until two months ago. He drew a breath and walked over to the wall of windows overlooking the city below. He missed it.

This was the first time she had been back in this office since they had _the talk_.

"_Maggie we can work this out."_

"_You love this job, Peter. No one's better at it. It's just a matter of time before it gets out…..about us. You're my supervisor. You know the Bureau's rules."_

"_I'll transfer back to Organized Crimes."_

"_No, and be supervised by that idiot Ruiz. I've already got the paper work filled out. There's an opening in The Violent Crimes section at Quantico."_

"_I can't ask you to do that."_

"_You didn't. I'm offering." _

"_D.C. …..when? _

"_As soon as the paper work gets filed," she couldn't be in the same city and not see him._

He was the same Peter, willing to put himself between any danger and the people he loved, and count the cost well worth it. It's what she loved about him. She loved him from the first time she met him. It would never have worked. She was the fresh faced recruit and he was the rising star of the White Collar Division. He would have paid so she didn't have to. She left. Anything else would have been a betrayal and the last person she ever wanted to betray was Peter Burke.

"Do we need to talk?" he asked.

"A United States senator is murdered and you're the prime suspect. You tell me. What's going on Peter? What happened here?"

"Pratt was dirty and in the end justice was served. It was the right thing to do."

"You know institutions have long memories, and the Bureau's is longer than most. Talk is you lost perspective; you let your feelings cloud your judgment. Is Caffrey worth it?"

"Yes, he reminds me a lot of you."

"So he's a pain in the ass," she smiled.

Peter closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.

"It's good seeing you Maggie. Enough about me, I know how you get with a case. Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Would you believe me, if I said yes?"

"I tried to reach you when I was in D.C."

"I'm sorry I missed you and Elizabeth, how's she doing?"

"Good, I'm a lucky guy."

"How about you? Seeing anyone?"

"Not anyone permanent. It takes a special guy to share your life with a serial killer."

"I'm sorry. Speaking of serial killers, do you have any leads on Snow?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. I have a really bad feeling about this one. We've been tracking him since his escape. We got our first hit when a shipment of curare was delivered to his parent's estate."

"I thought it was destroyed in the fire."

"It was, but the observatory which was several meters from the estate survived, and this is where the package was earmarked. There were medical supplies and a packet of Risperdal."

"Risperdal, that's an antipsychotic. I can't imagine Snow willingly taking anything that would interfere with his delusions."

"That's just the thing. I'm assuming he was pulling himself together for the next stage of his plan and it was plain he had been injured in the fall."

"No way could he have survived that. I saw him go over the roof of this building Maggie, with my own eyes."

"Something must have broken his fall. I don't believe in angels."

Wwwwwwwwwwwww

**Cape Verde**

_5 months earlier_

The sun rose at a dizzying speed. It settled high in the sky. Six in the morning and it was already hot. By seven am it would be burning. He watched and waited from the shallows. Then he emerged from the Villa, like clockwork. He jogged the eastern stretch of the beach, his skin damp from the heat. He watched him until the sun on the horizon turned his body into bits of shimmering light. His beautiful angel.

He was so close. Flashes of memories pounded his brain. The first time he glimpsed him in the Uffizi, until that fateful day on the roof top. The fall had broken his body. In his dreams, Neal catches him as he plummets to earth, wraps him in his magnificent wings and carries him. Tonight they would ascend, he would find peace. No longer trapped in darkness and cruelty he would finally be free. He wept at the idea of a relief he could only imagine.

Then he heard it, over the sound of the surf and the wind, the cries of angels. He was not alone. They spoke in terrifying voices filled with sorrow and despair. He tried to decipher their meaning, but couldn't. They had chosen him all those years ago, and now his waiting was almost at end. Why come to him now, why torment with an attention beyond his comprehension. The awful noise screamed through his brain. He had to concentrate, center all his thoughts; time his steps. Ambrose hauled himself to his knees and prayed. Neal Caffrey would save him, save them all. Then the pain and blackness came again, dragging him under.

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Neal watched the western horizon turn to flame as the sun set over the island. It was breathtaking, but God, he missed New York. Never thought he'd be so homesick for a place. Standing in a tropical paradise, it still crept up on him like a thief, reached into his heart and pulled. But what's regret gonna get me, he thought. He put the finishing touches on his pale replica. He'd have to settle for sand and memories. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and the stubble that had grown, island life. The candles were lit; Hector should be there shortly with Maya.

He liked her, a lot. He imagined being with her tonight. He even imagined loving her. As promised, Hector was right on time. Maya was radiant in the glow from the lanterns. He walked her to his city made of sand. He let out a breath as his city came to shimmering life.

"It's the view from my old building."

"This is amazing. Do you miss it?'

"Every day. I lived there off and on since I was 18."

"Why did you go there?"

"I had to leave the place I was from."

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When he woke, a dim glow drew his gaze. Ambrose gasped in awe, as a shimmering city rose out of the darkness. It burned his eyes. His Angel stood at the gates as prophesied. He had kept faith.

It was the City of God; the New Jerusalem, free of sin where night will no longer fall. The inhabitants of the city will have no need of lamps nor light of the sun for the Lord God gives them light. He had waited for so long. The rustle of angel wings was deafening as their voices echoed in the night. They had come to take them home.

They were not alone, he noticed the woman. They were speaking, he could barely hear.

"I had to leave the place I was from."

Salvation was at hand, they had come for them. He couldn't falter, not now. God had called the redeemed to leave behind this world of misery and carnage, the sins of flesh. He shall not be tempted. He tried to stand, but his body betrayed him. The pain brought him back to his knees. Paralyzed, he could only lie there in his weakness as she led him away.

His eyes closed, time stood still. The air was electric as the gathering storm approached, the wind howled as waves crashed the shore. Then he was there again, a solitary figure against the ruined city. His thoughts could not reach him, the angels had desserted them.

He needed to heal. Next time he would be ready and nothing or no one would come between them.

**Present Day/Queens, New York**

"What the fuck! How did I get here?" his eyes were jerking left to right. His arms and legs bound, he was on a bed. He didn't remember the needle Ambrose jammed into his neck. An awful stench filled the small room.

"Do you know who I am? I'm an agent of the FBI," Collins was breathing fast now.

"Yes, you know Neal Caffrey."

"Caffrey! If that piece of shit has anything to do with this. So help me God..."

"You're going to save him," Ambrose placed a scalpel on the table next to the bed and a tourniquet.

"What! Is this some kind of sick joke? Listen man, just let me go and we can work this out," desperation was making it hard to get out the words. Full blown panic struck next and hard.

Ambrose brought the blade of the scalpel six inches above Collin's right knee and pressed down. The agent began to realize nothing was going to stop what was about to happen. A mixture of vomit and pure fear lodged in the back of his throat. He gagged.

Ambrose tilted Collin's head back to straighten his airway. He didn't want him dying, not yet. He cut through the soft skin, down to the underlying muscle and unyielding bone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Avenging Angel**

**Chapter Three**

When Peter arrived, Neal was already at his desk doing a rather convincing turn as an extra from the Walking Dead. He was pale and slightly green around the gills. Apparently still not sleeping or eating.

"Hey, you got the text about the emergency meeting this morning; he looked up from his desk at Peter. Do you guys have any more leads on Snow?"

"No, but I'm guessing from all the traffic in here, we're about to hear something. You know you don't have to do this, if you don't feel well."

AD Calloway appeared at the stairs before Neal could respond and motioned everyone up.

Neal turned to Peter, "I'm good."

Maggie was standing before the assembled group, "Federal Agent Kyle Collins went missing Monday night. He's currently the subject of an ongoing FBI investigation. His last known contact according to an agency wiretap was Neal Caffrey."

Maggie nodded in Neal's direction, "Were you planning on telling us that Agent Collins was threatening you?"

"What! Peter turned in his seat. Neal?"

"I didn't think it was relevant, Neal shrugged.

"He threatened to kill you. I think that's plenty relevant," Maggie offered.

"Will someone fill me in," Peter growled. The room went silent as Assistant Director Calloway walked in and stood next to Agent Grace. "Please, go on," she said.

"Macleish was turning states evidence against Collins in a plea to lessen his sentence. Apparently he had information implicating him in a number of dirty operations. Additionally, he was willing to testify that Collins shot Mr. Caffrey while unarmed and posing no flight risk. Collins sent word that if Macleish testified, he was a dead man. The department had him under surveillance."

Peter weighed in, "hoping he would implicate himself or others further up the food chain."

"Exactly," said Maggie. "There'd been rumors circulating for some time Collins was a hired gun for certain people at the Bureau who didn't want to get their hands dirty."

"So what does that have to do with Neal?" Peter asked.

"As I said, we have been tracking Snow since his escape. Through the Quantico computers we can reference and catalogue the smallest detail fitting his profile. A John Doe matching his description turned up in a Cape Verde hospital shortly after MacLeish's capture on the island."

"So Snow was there tracking Neal," Peter went on.

"Yes, we believe that to be the case now. He was reportedly suffering from extreme dehydration, second and third degree sunburn and a full blown psychotic episode when admitted. The record showed old injuries compatible with blunt force trauma. He remained hospitalized for 2 months. Maya was murdered 2 days after his release. She was our first real hit and now Macleish."

Peter's heart skipped a beat as he looked over at Neal. He already knew where this was leading.

"Now the common denominator linking the two murder victims and our missing agent to Snow…" before Maggie could finish, Agent Calloway trained her gaze on Neal.

"Is you Mr. Caffrey. Agent Grace if you would," Calloway directs Maggie to play the transcript of Neal and Collins's wiretap conversation. You could hear the proverbial pin drop.

"_You fuck over people for a living. A lot of good men have gone down because of your bullshit, Fowler, Kramer, Hughes. That reminds me, how's your boyfriend Burke holding up?" _

"_You're the one drunk calling me at 2 am. I thought __**you**__ were my boyfriend."_

"_Watch your mouth, you little shit. When I finish with you you're going to be begging me to stop."_

"_That sounds hot."_

"_Fuck you, Caffrey! You think you're so clever, so fucking funny. You won't be laughing when I snap your scrawny neck. I should have finished you when I had the chance."_

"_You're a regular hero when you have someone handcuffed."_

"_You don't know who you're fucking with Caffrey. I am a hero, the genuine article. I'm a special agent of the fucking FBI. You're nothing, less than nothing, a liability. No one's coming to the rescue this time. You're a dead man Caffrey, a dead man. You hear me! You….."_

The line goes dead here. All eyes are on Neal.

"According to the file Agent Collins has been calling you every night for the past several weeks, but you didn't feel a need to report it," Calloway interjected.

"No. I thought I could handle it. He was drunk, looking for an easy target to vent his frustration on."

"And what made you think he needed to vent?"

"Troubled childhood?"

Peter shot Neal a "cut the crap" look.

"Okay. As you can hear, he's not the most stable person in the Bureau. I figured he get tired and move on. If I were required to report every Agent who thinks I'm a waste of space, and want me gone or worse, well ma'am that would be a very long report."

Calloway's lip tightened as she eyed Neal closely, his comment hung heavy in the room.

"According to the file, you befriended Ambrose Snow while the two of you were in maximum security," Calloway continued her interrogation of Neal.

"Ambrose Snow and I are not friends."

"But you do have a relationship with him. In the report Agent Burke filed, he stated Snow saw himself as your protector and that you Mr. Caffrey were vulnerable to his manipulation."

Neal took in a steadying breath, looking down at his hands refusing to make eye contact with Peter. He tried not to look as if Peter's comment hadn't hit a nerve.

"So what, you think Neal has something to do with Collins going missing?" Peter's face filled with a protective anger.

Maggie intervened, "Collins we think wanted to intimidate Neal into not testifying against him, if MacLeish went through with his plea bargain. Rough him up, demonstrate he could get to him, and preemptively make the case for not testifying."

"That may be the case, Calloway smiled tightly, but we have to explore every avenue. If Mr. Caffrey is somehow being influenced by Snow…."

"Snow killed Maya!" Neal pushed his chair back and stood, barely managing his grief and anger.

"Please," Maggie interceded, touching Neal's shoulder gently guiding him back into his seat.

"It is unlikely that Snow is working with anyone, it doesn't fit the profile. I believe Agent Burke was speaking more to Mr. Caffrey's highly refined ability to identify with and connect to subjects of his con with an almost empathic sensibility. It's what's made him so unique and talented at what he does. In this case it allowed him to humanize Snow, rendering him more sympathetic and creating a bridge to him."

Peter looked over at Maggie grateful both for her insights and her taking care of Neal when he was in no position to do so.

"So for those of us not quite as taken with Mr. Caffrey's abilities, are you ruling out any collusion between him and Snow in this disappearance."

"I am all but certain Ambrose Snow is not working in concert with anyone. His paranoid structure is crumbling, he is more frightened and distrustful than ever, more dangerous than ever."

Maggie looked from Neal to Peter. Her thoughts were interrupted when a member of her team came into the room and slipped a file into her hands.

"We think we have a lead on Collins. His cell just came back on grid."

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An hour later a team was assembled outside a brick split level in Queens. Long abandoned, the house set back from the tree lined street. The first two rooms were empty, years of grime clung to the mint green walls. Faded drapes hung open against the window overlooking the narrow alley, now teaming with FBI tactical.

A long center hallway stretched to the back. There was a sliver of light coming from a slightly open door a few yards ahead. They moved silently along the outside walls, Maggie and Peter taking point, flashlights casting an eerie grid like pattern along the cracked linoleum floors. Neal was a few steps behind. Maggie was against him coming, but Calloway had cleared him. Another reason Maggie disliked her.

They smelled it before they saw it.

"What is that? Sulphur?" Neal asked.

"This is far as you go. Stay here." She knew the smell, death. She turned to the young agent next to Neal, "Make sure he stays put."

They pushed in the door. The stench and the mass of flies rushing toward them made veteran agents bolt.

"Jesus," Peter gasped.

Collins naked body was propped up on a makeshift bed pushed into the corner. Both of his arms and legs had been severed. The stumps covered in tar. A bloody bucket of flesh and pitch sat nearby on a propane tank. It was still smoking. He had likely died from shock and blood loss, despite the crude attempt to seal the arteries and cauterize the wounds. The makeshift operation was never about sustaining life and all about sustaining the most excruciating pain imaginable. Peter shut his eyes for a moment. No one moved.

Eventually Neal pushed his way through the throng of agents, pulling along the man assigned to keep him back. The young probie fell to his knees and retched.

Neal wanted to run, turn and run and never stop, but he couldn't move. He stood paralyzed looking at the thing that used to be Kyle Collins. The blood from his face draining into the veins of his neck threatened to choke him.

Peter stepped directly in front of the body trying to shield Neal from the sight.

"Neal, this isn't your fault. Neal, can you hear me?"

The sound of his blood battering his brain drowned out everything to an almost acceptable level of static. His face was blank. His eyes were unfocused. He couldn't feel his body.

"Neal!" Peter said with more urgency.

Then Collins moved.

His eyes flew open as the stunned group looked on in utter horror. He began to chant "eripe animam meam, eripe animam meam" his terrified gaze falling on Neal.

"Caffrey. Caffrey! CAFFREY! Eripe animam meam. ERIPE ANIMAM MEAM."

Neal slammed his hands over his ears and staggered out of the room. Peter desperate, looked at Maggie then at Collins.

"What is he saying?"

Maggie, unable to take her eyes away from the grotesque tableau, "It's Latin, save my soul. He's asking Neal to have mercy on his soul."

Peter found Neal outside clutching his chest, leaning heavily against a crash truck…. his body sagging with the weight of what he'd just witnessed. A young paramedic was unsuccessfully trying to get him to sit down. Neal waved him away.

"That's it." Peter took Neal's arm and felt the tremors rippling through it.

"I'm fine," Neal's voice was barely above a whisper. Just give me a minute."

"Nobody's fine after seeing that."

"Peter, please."

"You're going to the hospital to get checked out. I don't want to hear it. You can barely stand on your own. Tell me I'm wrong. You're not eating, having headaches and you almost passed out yesterday."

He wanted to mount an argument; some protest against Peter, but right now Peter was the only thing keeping him upright.

"I'll take him Peter," Diana walked up moments earlier on the conversation, with Maggie two steps behind.

"Collins is dead," Maggie said with relief in her voice.

"Did he say anything else?" Peter asked.

"He was never going to say anything else. He delivered the message he was programmed to, it was for Neal. He was the message."

Neal began to sway as Diana stepped forward and placed her hand against his back.

"Let's go Neal, Diana said softly guiding him to her vehicle. She looked back at Peter, "I've got him."

The distant scream of unneeded ambulances filled the night air, as Peter watched Diana shepherd Neal away. He felt a shiver slide down his back. Ambrose Snow was out there. Still on his twisted mission and he was a step ahead.

"Maggie, what aren't you telling me?"

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks to everyone who's taken time to review, it is much appreciated. I love having the opportunity to communicate with you. I wish had a mechanism that allowed a direct response to all reviewers. Some of the loveliest, thought provoking and constructive criticism has come from guest reviewers and there is no way for the author to respond back. Maybe in the future that will change, but for right now I appreciate all of your feedback.


	4. Chapter 4

**Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 4**

"How's he doing?"

"Medically, he'll be fine. He's suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, lost about ten percent of his total body weight. All fixable. Emotionally, he's a wreck. I've never seen Neal so raw. What happened out there Diana?"

"I told you about the case with his father. It took more of a toll than I think even he's willing to admit. After all those years, to have it end the way it did. You can't help but feel for the guy."

"Yeah, but you said he was starting to turn a corner," Christie added.

"Well, actually it was Peter who said that. He has this optimism about Caffrey that's hard to understand."

"Neal did choose him in the end, over his father. He did the right thing, so maybe Peter's optimism is well placed."

"Don't get me wrong, I would never admit it to him, but Caffrey has changed… despite himself, she smiled. But now, this thing with Ambrose Snow. It's really got him spooked."

"Who's Ambrose Snow?"

"He's this psycho who fancies Neal to be an Angel."

"Well, he is heavenly."

"Ok, that was really bad," Diana groaned.

Christie reached out and touched her hair, amusement sparkling in her eyes. Her mouth turned up at the corners when she was in a playful mood.

"Come on, admit it; he is beautiful."

As attractive as she was at this moment, and as much as she wanted to block out the horror of the last hour, she was there for Neal.

"Ambrose Snow is a monster. He murdered a close friend of Neal's and just slaughtered an FBI agent as some sort of sick gift to him," her tone suddenly grim.

Christie stared at Diana, the urge to lighten the mood gone.

"It was the most gruesome thing I've ever seen. Christie, it was horrible. Everyone thought the man was dead. Then he woke up and started screaming for Caffrey to save him."

"God, that must have been awful for Neal and you too," she put her arm around Diana's waist.

"I had to pull over twice on the way here while he puked his guts out. I can tell you right now, I'm going to have a hard time myself sleeping after this."

"Do you want some company? Keep the bogey man away."

"I thought you wanted to take this slow, not rush it."

"I do... It just feels right, but if you're not ready."

"I am so ready; she leaned in and kissed her. What time is your shift over?"

"Eleven."

"Good, that gives me time to stop at mom's place. I promised to drop off some things. She and dad are staying at the Lake House."

"It's a date then. I better get back to our patient. His IV should just be about finished."

"So what's the verdict, Doc? Will I live?" Neal pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"To a ripe old age, but you need to take better care of yourself. All the tests came back basically within normal limits. You have some mild anemia and you've lost sixteen pounds since your last visit, nothing a few good meals can't fix."

"Easier said than done these days," he swung his feet over the side of the hospital bed.

"Diana told me about what happened. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, thanks." He couldn't bring himself to answer any of her questions. It was a struggle to just control the pain and fear he could barely acknowledge. Desperate to distract, he schooled his expression and let the trace of a smile cross his face.

"When did the two of you get back together?"

"A couple of months, we are trying to work things out," she finished taking his pulse.

"She'd be crazy to let you go."

"C'mon get dressed, I have something to help you sleep. I'll be right back."

He dragged himself to the small sink. The picture of Collins kept playing in his head. He washed the bile out of his mouth and looked at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself, the nausea was back. Christie found him with his hand to his stomach. The worry on her face was plain.

"Still nauseous?"

"Little bit."

She didn't believe him for a moment.

"Take this; it'll help with that and the insomnia." She pressed the bottle into his hand and held on a little longer than usual. "You're ride is waiting and I told her not to drive like a maniac."

"Bless you; I am afraid I already owe her for one car cleaning."

"Take care of yourself Neal. If you change your mind, I'm a good listener."

Diana was good to her word; the ride to June's was agonizingly slow. But he managed to keep his stomach in check. He woke to Diana gently nudging his shoulder.

"We're here. Come on, I'll walk you inside."

"You've done enough for me already, that's not necessary."

"I want to and besides I promised Christie I'd deliver you to June in one piece. You know what happened back there wasn't your fault."

"That's what they said about Kate, Ellen, Peter and now Maya. Collins said I ruin the lives of everybody I come in contact with. Like father, like son."

"You're nothing like your father, and well Collins. I mean nobody deserved what he got, but that's all on Snow. We are going to find him Neal. You know Peter won't stop. I promise you, we will get that sick bastard."

"Thanks Diana," he hugged her. She smelled good.

"I made Christie promise to give you the good stuff. Get some rest."

wcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwc

It was good to be finally home. The adrenaline rush of fear finally faded, he was exhausted. His clothes smelled of tar and worse. He needed a shower. The waters heat felt good against his aching body. Just maybe, he would sleep tonight. He felt oddly…calm. Could be Christie's drugs were going to work. Then there was just a whisper of sound. He was there, standing in the shadows. Ambrose had found him.

"I wish I could have come to you earlier. I haven't been well," he said quietly.

Sooner or later Neal knew he would have to face him. Shit. Ignoring the fact his hands were shaking, he tried to keep his face neutral.

"You're so beautiful."

"Is that what this is all about?" Neal said flatly, disgust and rage boiling underneath the practiced calm. It wasn't going to last this time. His mask was crumbling.

"You are an angel, an angel of the Lord."

"Stop calling me that!"

"It's your father's will."

"Cut the crap Ambrose. You're not saying anything to me! I've had enough of murdering fathers to last a lifetime. You're wasting my time. You're a monster and so is your God."

"Stop! You don't know what you're saying," the muted howls were in the distance.

"But I do. Daddy didn't love you, now you think someone is going to come and rescue you and make right all the horrible things you've done."

"Stop. Please. You were sent to me, they promised me."

"God, if you think I can save you, you're crazier than I thought."

"You are an angel of the Lord; you are an angel of the Lord." Ambrose chanted his green eyes burning with devotion.

"Stop calling me that!" Neal screamed.

"I'm no fucking angel," an anger he'd never felt surged through him as unbidden images of Maya's mutilated body flashed through his brain, as Collins begged for his mercy.

"Why did you kill her?" he swiped at his eyes as he tried to stop the memories.

"I did it for you." Ambrose stepped forward taking Neal into his arms. Neal shifted out of his embrace and stumbled back until he collided with the wall; with a sudden surge Ambrose was upon the panicking man. He pulled a syringe from his pocket.

"No, don't." Neal fought as the stronger man pressed the needle into his flesh, his movements hampered by his grip on him. He stared at the wound on his arm, his body trembling as the drug flooded him. He jerked violently. His arms falling to his sides, knees buckling; he faltered…. then collapsed against Ambrose.

He carried him into the small bedroom. Neal's eyes were wild, his face flushed as he fought to maintain consciousness. Ambrose sat near him on the bed and brushed away the tangle of hair that fell into his eyes. Neal jerked away from his touch. "I will never hurt you," Ambrose whispered, his lips moving against his ear. "Be still. I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you."

"I know what you did. I know who you are." Neal's voice was hoarse and ragged.

"Everything I've done, I've done for you."

Suddenly he leaned in, running his fingertips over Neal's face, tracing the contours of his mouth.

Something deep within Ambrose stirred, something that had never been alive before. He felt a moment of joy. Then the slight rustle of wings played on the periphery of his consciousness, the whisper of voices. He could feel their breath against his ear, but he couldn't tear his gaze from those electric blue eyes. In the swirling confusion clawing at his brain, the only thing that made sense, the only thing he wanted was to be with him. To touch him finally. His hands moved down Neal's throat and over his chest. Neal's face twisted as if absorbing a blow. A tear spilled down his cheek.

"You're like all the rest…his voice thready and broken. Worse. You go to hell."

Ambrose scrambled back from Neal's bed. What had he done? What temptation had he given himself over to?

He stood completely still for a moment and lifted his face as if to the sky, as if listening to something no one else could hear. But they were gone. Abandoned in his shame and wickedness, he was absolutely alone. Absolutely alone for the first time since a boy, the silence was overwhelming.

The shaking started at his feet, and then rapidly filled him with an intensity that threatened to tear him apart. A huge choking pain made him cry out like a wounded animal. Agony expanding to every part of his body, he had failed. He knew then what he was also_. _He would never enter that place of peace.

He watched him until he lost consciousness. His face relaxed and radiant. He was surrounded by a nimbus of light. Ambrose bowed his head knowing he did not belong in his presence. But this he knew, he would keep him safe; safe from this world and its temptations, he would protect him. Always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Avenging Angel **

**Chapter 5**

"You want to tell me what happened out there Maggie?" his brown eyes darkened with concern.

"Snow's not following the profile Peter. He hasn't been since killing Maya on Cape Verde."

"You said in the briefing she fit his profile and that's what led you to him."

"Yes and no. The use of curare was our first tie in. It's his signature drug of choice to both subdue victims and have them participate in his ritual. Snow's always been highly organized, methodical in his kills. However, Maya's wound patterns were random, sexualized in nature ….frenzied. Something changed on that island."

"So, if he's not meeting the profile; why brief us on it?" Peter was pacing, a sick feeling spreading through his gut.

"Sit down Peter. We need to talk about Neal."

He took a seat.

"Part of Snow's delusional system revolved around a hallucination first manifested in late childhood. He told his parents an angel came to him. He said he'd been chosen by God to live among them. Later he would become obsessed with the idea of them as his psychosis deepened."

"And he thinks Neal has been sent to him, his ticket to redemption, I know."

"In his delusional system, angels represent purity, untainted by what he considered the baser human desires of sex and lust. It is not uncommon with the onset of puberty, that paranoid schizophrenics such as Snow feel overwhelmed by their impulses both sexual and aggressive. Elaborate delusional systems can be set up to contain or control these urges."

"They obviously aren't working from what we just saw in Queens," the sustained rage needed to do that to a man was hard to fathom. He still couldn't get the look in Collins eyes out of his brain.

"The medical report we received from his hospital stay in Cape Verde indicated he was in a full blown psychosis when admitted. Experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, he was heavily sedated and restrained to prevent self-injury. His body was covered in self-inflicted wounds."

Peter took in a deep breath as he studied Maggie's face. She was analytical, thorough, she weighed every choice, every decision, and she didn't make mistakes. She didn't scare easy. She looked frightened.

"This was never released in the materials we made public, Maya's body had the word _whore_ carved into it. There was one other word repeatedly scrawled over the walls of her apartment… Babylon."

"The whore of Babylon," Peter scrubbed his hand over his face and exhaled hard, as he imagined the horror of Maya's death.

"That what's we thought also. Biblical scholars trace the term alternately to a false bride or a false religion. In Revelations it speaks of one of the seven angels with one of seven vials, sent to dispatch her. It wasn't clear to us at first what it meant in Ambrose's twisted psyche."

"But then when you heard she was Neal's friend it all fell into place. Ambrose thought Maya was some form of temptation or replacement," this idea made him queasy. There it was, his worst fear; Neal out there alone, unprotected from this lunatic. He should have fought harder, tried harder to convince Callaway to provide that damn detail.

Maggie continued, studying Peter's reactions closely.

"Up until his encounter with Maya, his idealized version of Neal was removed from worldly temptations and sins of the flesh that tormented him. In his delusional scheme he too would become an angel, pure and free. Neal would transform him, as promised when he was a boy."

"But Maya was an obstacle to that, you're saying."

"Yes, Collins, MacLeish, the others were all physical threats to Neal, but Maya was a more dangerous threat. She not only threatened to corrupt him but to usurp Ambrose's rightful place beside him."

"This was all about Neal from the beginning wasn't it?" Peter looked at Maggie with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

She hesitated a few seconds before answering. She knew damn well he was onto her and no amount of maneuvering was going to work.

"Peter, we lost track of Snow after Maya. It was if he just disappeared off the planet. We had nothing."

"So this was a fishing expedition. The request for our help was all a ploy to draw Snow out into the open."

"He's more disorganized than ever, he's sick….vulnerable. He's going to make a mistake and we will be there. We couldn't take a chance and bring anyone else into this."

"And that includes me, you couldn't take a chance on me is what you're saying," for the first time he felt he didn't know the woman sitting across from him.

"Let's face it Peter you're not logical when it comes to Caffrey, you let your feelings cloud your judgment. People suspect your motives already. Rumor has it..."

Before she could finish, Peter pushed his chair from the table; his entire body tense. He stood and walked to the wall of windows, staring at the concrete and steel that was Manhattan. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to the woman who had become a stranger.

"When did you start listening to rumors, Maggie?"

"You knew Snow would come after Neal. You also know he's disorganized, totally off script, and thinks that Neal may be a….. false whatever. So you and the Bureau decide to set him up like a sacrificial lamb, and you suspect my motives."

"We would have him under surveillance. We could put our hands on him anytime."

"Like you did Collins? How's that working out for you?" he resisted the urge to yell and start throwing things.

"Clouded judgment? No, I think I'm seeing things pretty clearly. Neal is expendable as far as some people in the Bureau are concerned."

"Neal was my CI; I was obligated to protect him. But he's also my friend, my partner; and partners protect each other, no matter what. You of all people should know that."

"I don't remember you working that hard, when it came to us."

"Is that what this is about? I offered to quit, Maggie. But as usual, you had everything already lined up….. everything worked out."

He would have found a way. He would have tried. He would have done that for her.

"You were on the fast track to promotion; it would have derailed everything you worked so hard for."

"I love what I do, but so did you. You were every bit as ambitious as me. Would you have stayed?"

The room went silent. They both knew the answer.

"What happened to you Maggie? Setting someone up as bait only works if someone is watching the trap. Callaway took the detail off Neal, but you already know that. This isn't you."

But it was, and it chilled her. Almost as much as his disappointment, almost as much as the emotional wasteland she'd become. There was a time he had complete faith in her and she wanted that back.

"Get Caffrey on the phone," she told him.

Grateful, Peter wasted no time and prayed he wasn't too late.

"Neal, its Peter. Pick up. It's important, call me."

"He's not answering his cell. I'm going to try June."

"June, I've been trying to reach Neal. He's not answering. Is he there?"

"Why yes, Diana brought him home about an hour ago. Is there anything wrong?"

"We think he may be in danger. I'm sending a detail to your home. Don't let anyone in till we get there."

"But you already have a detail in place; Agent Collins came by shortly after Diana left."

"Who? Who did you say?" his heart was in his throat.

"Agent Kyle Collins, I remember the name. He showed me his service badge."

"June, listen to me. Go to your room, lock yourself in and under no circumstance let anyone in."

"Peter, you're scaring me; what's happened? Is Neal…?"

"Just do it!" his face was white with panic.

"Peter, what is it?" Maggie was at his side.

"It's Ambrose, he's with Neal."

Wcwwcwcwcwcwcwcwcwc

Whatever Ambrose dosed him with was finally clearing his system, he rubbed his eyes and the apartment came into focus. He was gone. On his first attempt at standing his legs wobbled, but eventually he got himself vertical. He was half way to the kitchen table when the door swung open. He almost lost his footing as he turned to see Peter and Maggie weapons drawn in the doorway.

"Neal, you okay buddy?"

"Yeah, I just need to sit for a moment. Ambrose was here."

"Did he hurt you?" Peter asked quietly crouching down next to Neal.

"No, but he…. his head began to spin a little. He looked at the bruise on his arm from the needle. He drugged me with something."

"Here, drink this; Maggie brought him a glass of water from the tap. Did he say anything?"

"The usual I'm an angel crap," he let out a weary sigh, his head falling into his hands. The water felt good against his parched throat.

"Do you want to lie down?"

"No, I just got up. How did you know he was here?"

June walked in before either Peter or Maggie could respond.

"Hi June, Neal gave her a weak smile. Sorry about all the commotion."

"Oh Neal sweetheart, I was so worried when Peter said you might be in danger. How are you?" she took his hand.

"I'm Ok," he said with all the conviction of someone undergoing open heart surgery.

"I would never have let him in, if I knew he was a danger to you. I'm so sorry, but he had an FBI badge and he knew you and he knew Diana."

"Who are you talking about?" Neal looked from Peter to Maggie.

"Agent Collins, I let him up to you," June said thoroughly confused now.

"What did he say about Diana?" Neal was in full on panic mode. "June this is extremely important."

"Neal you're hurting me."

Horrified, he relaxed his grip on her hand. "June, forgive me. I'm sorry."

Shaken she looked at him; "He said he was here to protect you and that you didn't need Diana's help anymore. I thought it was strange."

"Neal, Maggie is staring at him. What did Ambrose say to you?"

"He said he was going to free me from temptation."

"Damn it!" Peter said to no one in particular. This wasn't happening. His heart was thundering against his chest wall, as he pulled out his phone.

"Jones, I need you to get over to Diana's place. She's in danger, take back up."

"You got it, Peter. But I'm going to need clearance from the AD for backup."

"I'm on the way."

"I'm going too, with a sudden surge of coordination Neal pushed past Peter for the door. Peter, I'm going with you or without you."

He was furious with himself for not stopping Ambrose, when he'd had the chance on that rooftop. What kind of fool was he, egging him on? He wasn't going to be the death of her. He couldn't, he wouldn't let that happen.

As they reached the Taurus, Maggie was on the phone. "OK go, I'm going to deal with Callaway and get the backup we need. Go, go. I'll be right behind you."

Neal looked at Peter with true despair, "Peter, I pushed Ambrose. I was impulsive and stupid, so stupid. God, if anything happens to her. Peter, I... can't..." He couldn't finish the thought aloud.

"Listen we don't think about that now. Diana's going to be OK. She's the toughest person I know. She can take care of herself." He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and sent up a silent prayer.

They pulled up at Diana's apartment the same time as Jones. The door was slightly ajar. Peter went in first, with Jones on his heels. He saw her first. She was hanging from the ceiling, a pool of black blood beneath her. There was a jagged hole in her chest.

Peter doubled over, his hands on his knees…. the air wheezing out of his lungs. Jones stumbled back a few steps, colliding with Neal, his hand clapped over his mouth.

Neal walked past Jones, then past Peter, until he was standing in front of her, his voice barely above a whisper, _Christie._

Peter couldn't breathe; tears were rivering down his face. He felt frozen inside. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing.

Neal stepped on to a chair he took from the dining table and began untying the rope that bound her hands.

"Neal stop, you can't its evidence."

"We have to get her down Peter, she's so cold." He wrapped his arms around her and her head shifted to lean against his shoulder.

"Neal, stop."

"Peter, please. Help me," his hands were trembling as he tried to hold her up. He looked so young, so fragile. Peter's heart was breaking.

"It's OK, Neal."

It was as if he was underwater, he stepped through the dark circle of Christie's blood and helped him. Together they laid her body on the couch. Neal seemed almost in a trance. Slowly he released her. Gently, he reached out and touched her face. Her eyes smart and kind were still open, he closed them. He looked up at Peter, "He took her heart."

Blue and red and yellow lights were flashing over the apartment building, NYPD radios crackling in the night when Maggie arrived just ahead of Diana.

"What's going on?" Diana asked her.

"We thought you might be in danger, Maggie heaved a sigh of relief. Ambrose Snow was at Neal's tonight and we thought he might be coming here. I'm so glad…."

"Christie is here, she's upstairs."

"What?"

Diana was pushing past her. She started for the stairs. Her brain was telling her to breathe, as her lungs were constricted by the rising tide of panic filling her chest. She kept her eyes pinned on the door at the top. Any minute Christie was going to open it and laugh. Any minute now. Christie!

Jones moved toward her, his eyes filled with tears. She refused to look at him.

"Christie, Christie! Where is she Clinton?"

"Diana, he said softly.

"No, no! Get out of my way. So help me God, if you don't let me by."

He reached out and pulled her towards him, "Di, she's gone."

A raw guttural sound broke threw her chest as she tried to push him away. "That can't be. She's waiting for me. Tell me Clinton, she's waiting for me."

He held her fast as her struggling slowed and her screams turned to choked sobs and filled the silence.

**Author's Note:**

This was a difficult chapter to write. The amazing writers and actors of White Collar have created a world that is so real and compelling, that the loss of even a minor character is painful. I wanted to provide more of Ambrose's pathology and motivations and it was a struggle to do it without a lot of weighty exposition. I tried to provide it in dialogue, don't know how successful that was. I'd love to hear what you guys think. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews and staying with this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 6**

He felt like a helpless child. Diana seemed helpless too as he watched her taken down the hallway. The door swung open and it was Jones.

"Hey, Neal," he said. "They're ready for your statement." He touched him on the shoulder. Clinton rarely touched him on purpose. He knew enough to not ask him how he felt.

Callaway was seated at a table with several other agents he didn't recognize. There was some talk about Ambrose, questions he couldn't quite understand. Whenever there was a pause in the proceedings, likenesses of Christie filled his brain. Her strangely beautiful eyes staring straight ahead, he leaned over on their table.

"Mr. Caffrey? Mr. Caffrey, was there something else you wanted to add to your statement?" They were staring at him, all their questions seemingly dissolved in what they saw at that moment. The door swung open again, this time it was Peter.

His face was changed. Remnants of grief and fear knotted behind his temples, none of the things he had come to look for were there in his face tonight. He had never seen Peter cry.

"You ready to get out of here?" Peter asked him.

"Where's Diana?" he asked softly.

"Down the hall. Ambassador and Mrs. Berrigan should be here shortly, they're taking her home with them."

"I want to see her."

"I don't think that's a good idea right now. She's… she's barely holding it together, Neal. I didn't want her to come in, but she insisted on giving her statement," he said with a mixture of sadness and pride.

"I need to see her, just for a moment. I promise I won't stay long. I just need to see her, Peter."

"I'll see what I can do." Peter stood in the hallway outside and gathered himself. The haunted look in Neal's eyes was the mirror image of Diana's. He didn't know how to fix them.

Peter walked beside him to the small room at the end of the hallway. The door slid open quietly and Neal stepped inside. Diana was sitting looking at her folded hands. Jones was hovering in the background. He felt as if he were in his dreams.

"May I stay?" he asked quietly.

She raised her eyes to his, "Sure. Are you done with your statement?" Her voice was calm, but her eyes were that of a terrified child, making brave. He knew the look. He sat down in the chair next to her.

"I'm so sorry."

"They wouldn't let me see her, you know. Did you see her?"

"Yes," he said numbly.

"Thank you," tears returned to her eyes again. There was nothing else to say. They sat in silence as an ocean of sorrow washed over them.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway and Jones was moving toward the door. Diana's parents had arrived. They went quickly to her.

"Diana," her father said gathering her into his arms.

"Daddy," a choked sob broke from her throat. "Christie's dead."

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The drive to June's seemed to take years. Peter thought he shouldn't be alone. But he was alone and even Peter couldn't fix that. His parents weren't coming to take him home. Kate wasn't waiting to take him into her arms. He told Peter to go home, he would be OK. Peter didn't believe it for a second, although he wanted to with everything he had. He looked out the car window, the mansion looked so big…so distant.

"Neal, look at me. I'm here for you. I'm not letting you out of this car until you promise me. Promise me, you'll call if anything goes wrong." He took Neal's arm and the stillness he felt in Peter's touch calmed the trembling inside of him. He nodded yes.

The exhaust from Peter's car formed a ghostly cloud in the cold night air as it moved out of sight. He locked the door to the grand old house behind him and started for the staircase. The full weight of the day descended on him, his legs ached and his stomach felt weak as he climbed. Maybe he would get some sleep tonight. The house was quiet, it was two in the morning; June and her staff were sleeping.

He undressed in the small bedroom and lay across his bed. What seemed like an endless surge of adrenaline, finally run out. He'd reached the end of his bravery. Staring at the ceiling, he felt like he wasn't in his body anymore. He closed his eyes, but the specter of Ambrose rose up behind his lids. He could smell him; almost feel his cold hands on him. The same hands that killed Maya, Collins …. the hands that took Christie's still beating heart. He was responsible. He brought this monster into their lives, who pulled them in and tore them apart. He couldn't breathe.

He was afraid, scared if he didn't get up, he never would. His steps were heavy, weighted down. He stood there at the small sink, cupping water into his hands and pressing his face into it. His hands trembled so badly, the water splashed everywhere. He leaned on the counter his palms outstretched for support and then he saw it.

"God!" he sobbed.

Blood was caked under his nails, Christie's blood. He tried to wash it but it wouldn't go away. The more he scrubbed, the more it spread. It was everywhere.

He shook his head, "No, no." It had to be a dream, he was dreaming right? His thoughts were racing now. Everything was loud, too loud. Someone was talking to him, in indecipherable bits and pieces _if anything goes wrong, Neal_. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know what to do. He needed to sit down, but he couldn't walk the short distance to his couch. He sat on the floor, drew his legs up to his chest and buried his face against his knees. He doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want to feel, remember…and for the briefest moment, a reprieve, everything went blank. Then a sea of pain and sorrow took him in a deluge he couldn't get from under, and terribly, he was crying. Crying wildly, until finally he lay quiet; his eyes closed.

Wcwcwc

He wakes. He's on the kitchen floor, the kitchen faucet still running; and someone is shaking him.

"Jesus, Neal why didn't you call me? June called me when you didn't answer your door." They are both staring at him. He can tell June's trying not to cry.

He tries to calm himself in the face of Peter's horrified stare and the fear in June's eyes, but he can't breathe. His face is hot and his insides trembling. He wants to smile and reassure them the way he's done countless times, but he can't. Instead he gasps, choking for air.

"It's okay Neal, calm down. I'm right here, everything is going to be okay," Peter says softly. He puts his hand gently on the back of Neal's neck.

"Neal, what happened here?" Peter asks as he looks at Neal's hands, still raw and bleeding.

"I don't know. I didn't know how to reach you," his voice is hoarse and a shudder passes over him. "Peter, I think I might be having some kind of breakdown."

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 7**

Its three weeks since he was released from the hospital, two weeks since they changed his antidepressants and five days since he had any suicidal ideation. He tries not to think about these things, he's really glad to be returning to work. It's not the same, but it's all he's got. Callaway still has Peter on cold cases and Diana's still out on leave. Jones is his temporary handler. He could think of a lot worse, a way lot worse.

Still he wakes in the middle of the night, sometimes gasping or crying out. Usually he doesn't remember, a beneficial side effect of upping the Lexapro. He can always tell how bad it is though, by the troubled expression on June's face the next morning. Last night was the exception. He remembered. Ambrose's face was close to his, green eyes glittering in the dark, cold breath on his forehead. He couldn't move. He was frozen, paralyzed. His psychiatrist said it was a common experience, being trapped between waking and sleeping. Sometimes when the brain is in transition, things we ordinarily repress rise to the surface. He thinks he wants to remember that murderous bastard and yet they say he's crazy.

Peter was on his way to pick him up and drive him to the office. As long as Ambrose was out there, he said consider him his personal chauffeur. Certainty didn't factor much in his life these days, except for Peter. Good and true, he was his compass. The events of the last month convinced him Peter would always be his friend, no matter how much he went on disappointing him.

There was a chill in the air as he stepped outside. The wind pulled at his jacket, flapping it open. Rain was coming down slowly as Peter pulled up.

"Have I told you lately just how much I love you," he grinned.

"If that's June's French Roast, then yes, you have. C'mon get in, you're getting wet."

He handed one of the coffees over and slid in. As soon as he took the door handle a feeling of dread came over him. He gave it a second to pass, but it didn't. Peter took a welcomed sip of the steaming brew, as Neal tried to gather himself.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Peter said softly.

"Sorry, what?" his eyes were locked on his coffee mug.

"So, you ready for your first day back at work?"

"Truthfully?" his shrink would be proud, _admitting the problem is the first step._

"I like truth," Peter smiled.

"Not so much. The nightmares are back. Ambrose's face, it woke me up. Peter...seeing him was..." he shuddered a little.

Peter drew in a breath as Neal's voice trailed off. He wasn't up to speed and everyone knew it, including Neal. Maggie had gone to bat for him with the Bureau to ensure he got the leave and treatment he deserved. But Callaway was pressing the relevancy of his deal, knowing full well a revocation would land him back in prison. He needed Neal to function.

"Neal, it's going to take time. You can't expect to be one hundred percent."

"But we don't have time. I know what Callaway is up to and I've been anything but normal lately. I can't screw things up for you."

"Let me handle Callaway. If you're not ready, we go back upstairs. We're going to deal with this together." Someone who lost as much as Neal had a right to crack up, he just had to make sure he didn't stay that way. Nothing else was remotely important.

"Your coffee's getting cold," Peter squeezed his arm. "Should we go up and ask June for a refill, get some breakfast?"

"Jones told me your cold case closure rate is hovering in the low seventies. Seriously, Peter?" he gave a knowing smile. "You are so going to need my help. Let's not keep the Dragon Lady waiting." Starting the car, they nudged into traffic.

**wcwcwcw**

"So how's Neal handling his first day back?"

"I have no idea. He's different, Maggie," he rubbed his face hard. "I've always felt I could tell when he's hiding something, running a con. But now... his feelings are all over the place. I wasn't sure he'd make it in this morning."

"He's tougher than you think and besides he has you."

"Thanks for looking out for him," Peter looked at her with affection.

"I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I owed him that."

"I heard that you're being called back to Quantico. You okay?"

"It was a matter of time. MacLeish, Collins... your friend and we don't have any more on Snow then when we started. It's as if he's dropped off the earth."

"And they need someone to blame," Peter sighed.

"I'm convinced he's here waiting for the right opportunity, but I'm in no position to inspire the confidence of the Bureau. Didn't help that your AD weighed in with a report critical of the operation."

"Callaway! You got to be kidding me. If she would have put the protective detail on Neal when we asked, none of this would have happened." His blood was running hot.

"Be careful of her Peter. She's clearly in over her head here. But she's arrogant and wants to win, and has friends higher up in the Bureau. She's dangerous."

"She's not going to win, whatever she's planning. I'm not going to let that happen," he shook his head angrily.

She wanted to reach out and comfort him. Touch him, take his pain and ease the burden pressing on him like a weight. _Don't do this_, her mind warned. That ship had long sailed, but she couldn't wonder how things might have been. She stuffed those feelings down into the empty place in her heart, where they belonged. As much as she hated leaving, staying wasn't an option for her either. She cleared her throat.

"You know she wants you and Neal removed and to accomplish that she will use Snow if she has to. Don't make her case for her."

"With you out of the picture that becomes harder. I want to get this guy, Maggie. Nobody understands him better than you do. What's his next move?"

"Maya was a more personal kill for him, challenged his fantasies regarding his motivations and I think it lead to a furthering of his disorganization. It's taking him more time to reorganize. I believe it's the same with Christie."

"We haven't heard from him because he's incapacitated," he tried to tamp down his runaway thoughts. "He hasn't struck again not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't."

"Exactly. But he will reorganize and continue his mission," of this she was certain.

"And his mission is... Neal," he felt the hairs on his arm lift.

"Yes," she said quietly.

**wcwcwcw**

Jones found Neal standing over the coffee machine, apparently lost in thought. He seemed surprised when it beeped.

"How's it going man?"

"Hey Jones, good. You need me?"

"No. At the rate you're going through those cases, I'll have to get the basement storage key from AD Callaway. She wants it cleaned."

He gave Jones a sharp look, and those blue eyes widened, "That was a joke, right?" Jone's face broke into a sly smile.

"You're funny." He looked down at his coffee and small swirls of cream floated up to the surface.

"Any word from Diana?" he asked.

"Yeah, I talked to her last week. She sounds better, stronger. She asked about you."

"I'm so sorry I missed the services. I wanted to be there," but he was under a forty eight hour psychiatric commitment. He felt tears trying to break through, but they were no match for the dam of antidepressants he was taking. He was grateful.

"She understood, Neal." Clinton touched him, again. "Listen, when you're done Callaway wants to meet with you."

"Do you know why?"

"Just answer all her questions. You'll do fine."

**wcwc**

"Come in Mr. Caffrey, please have a seat."

"Please, call me Neal."

"Neal, she smiled. I'm sorry I haven't had the opportunity to talk with you sooner. Agent Jones says your work today has been exemplary."

"Thank you. I've been eager to get back to work and extremely appreciative for the leave."

"I read through your medical report and your therapist has cleared you to return full time. He didn't indicate a termination date. How do you feel it's coming," she smiled.

Her smile was meant to be benign, but it was anything but. He lost all the warmth he was feeling. "Do you have anything specific you wanted to know?"

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but I need to know your mental health issues won't jeopardize the operation of this division. Your actions at the crime scene may have seriously compromised evidence. Now, I understand you were under a great deal of pressure, with the victim being an acquaintance and the gruesome nature of the murder."

He had finally stopped seeing Christie's lifeless body suspended from the ceiling. Remembering, he realized his face had lost its color. "Sorry I'm just tired, didn't sleep well last night."

"Do you need to take a break?"

"No, I'm fine," offering a smile he didn't feel.

"Agent Burke's failure to follow protocol compromised valuable case evidence. The two of you moved the victim's body."

"What? No. I asked him to do that. He didn't want to."

"My point. His concern for your stability, your mental health affected his judgment. I've initiated a review of his actions which may lead to disciplinary actions."

His insides turned to water. He paused in the hallway, getting his bearings. He didn't remember leaving her office. Eyes darkened with guilt; blindly he navigated his way to the elevators; not noticing Maggie standing there.

"Neal, hey I'm glad I ran into you. I've been called back to Quantico. I'm leaving today and I wanted to say goodbye. You okay?" she could clearly see that he wasn't.

"Yeah, just had a rough night. Sorry you're leaving. Peter told me everything you did, thank you. If you see him, tell him I forgot I have an appointment with my shrink." His eyes were blinking. "June will pick me up," he hoped he had enough left to convincingly sell this lie.

Poor guy looked like he saw a ghost; Maggie wondered what could have rattled him so. She turned back only to find Amanda Callaway watching them.

**wcwcwcw**

He stood there looking at himself in his bathroom mirror. He didn't recognize the face of the man looking back at him. Fear and confusion distorted the planes and contours. He hated what he saw. How did he get so weak and helpless? He never gave up. He always had a plan. He was always one move ahead.

There was a despair so deep inside, he couldn't understand it. People kept telling him; _give it time, you have to go on_. How do you go on with a madman out there threatening everyone who matters to you? Ambrose wasn't going away. He would never stop. He would tear to pieces the people he loved. Peter was already paying the price and he wouldn't let him sacrifice anything more.

He slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering the reflection.

"No!"

The word broke through his chest and reverberated in the small space. The savagery of the response shook him as shards of glass fell to the cold tile beneath his feet. He caught the edge of the sink to steady him.

"Damn it! Damn it! It's me. I'm still here."

There was a rage burning deep in his soul. He was done crying. Done with platitudes and happy pills. Done cowering in fear. Done! Ambrose Snow was not going to hurt anyone else he loved. He had to pay. He hated him, more than he hated himself. And at that moment, he knew what he had to do. He was going to dance with the devil.

**Author's Note:**

Thanks again to all of you continuing to follow this. I had to work out some plot kinks and that took a little longer than I had anticipated. Having something in your head and then translating it to paper, doesn't always go as planned. I always have a story worked out before I begin posting. I hate when author's leave me hanging, but I realize things happen in life that might prevent the best of intentions. I will never start a story I don't intend to finish. The fact that people are eager to see what happens next is just the best feeling ever, so thanks for your patience and your time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Avenging Angel**

**Chapter 8**

_**Part One**_

Two Weeks Later

He was back. Neal Caffrey was back. The graceful swagger, easy charm, brilliant smile and nervy cheek were on full display. This was the Neal Caffrey Peter knew and this Neal Caffrey was definitely up to something. What? He had no clue. It was if the last two months never happened. But they had and it nearly broke him. This, Peter knew for sure. Whatever con Neal was running had a shelf life and he was going to be there when it expired.

His stomach rumbled; it was lunch time. Neal begged off his last few invitations, therapy sessions he said. Peter didn't believe it for a second, but he had other pressing problems. Callaway granted him a reprieve and put his review off for another week. When he thought about it the word inquisition slipped through his mind. He might be facing suspension or worse this go round. God, it was going to be a long day.

He dug for his phone as it vibrated in his jacket pocket. Glancing at the number he didn't recognize it. Then a woman's voice asked, "Peter?"

"Maggie. Good to hear from you. You okay?"

"Yeah, she smiled. Thanks."

"They keeping you busy over there?"

"I didn't leave, Peter. I didn't go back to Virginia. I know Ambrose is here and I've been waiting for him to show."

"I thought you were ordered to return," concern filled his voice.

"I haven't taken vacation in ten years. I have a lot of leave. Too much, I've been told. So, I decided to do something about it. I want to show you something. Meet me for lunch."

The last couple of days she made a point of visiting the small coffee shop down the block, the espresso helped clear her head while she waited and watched. Sometimes her mind travelled to Peter and the reasons it was harder to leave than she imagined.

"Hey, I thought you were taking me to lunch?" he poked his head in the car window.

"I am. Get in. She offered him one of the two sandwiches she had in her coffee shop bag. Devilled ham, right?"

She was wearing jeans, sneakers, a white shirt and her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail. The intelligence and determination in her wide blue eyes hadn't changed. She looked exactly like she did ten years ago. He couldn't help but smile.

"You always knew my weak spots," he said retrieving the sandwich. "Maggie what's going on?"

"Let's go for a ride."

He'd taken two bites when she nosed the rental car out into traffic. After a brief drive, she pulled up outside a large Catholic church. Peter recognized it long before they came to a stop. It all came rushing back. This was the site of his first case together with Neal, the Dutchman.

"You know this place?" She saw the reaction in his eyes. There was a story there.

"Neal and I solved our first case here, Curtis Hagan, aka The Dutchman. He was a forger and murderer, and he was going to walk. Turns out he was doing art restoration here at the church and Neal discovered he signed his work. Ultimately that piece of info, led us to bringing him down."

It seemed an odd twist of fate that brought him back to this spot. Filled with nostalgia, he couldn't resist regaling Maggie with the twists and turns of the case and Neal's unique and now legendary take on the law and exigent circumstances.

"That was genius, Maggie offered. You've always liked smart, Peter. So you two clicked from the outset."

"You asked me once if Neal was worth it. He's not just smart, he could be anything. We were chasing this kid for years and he was always one step ahead. Maggie, we had the full faith and resources of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and he outsmarted us at every turn."

"But you caught him, twice."

"He let us. I'm pretty certain I'd still be chasing him, if he truly wanted it. But there was always more to Neal than smarts. There's goodness in him, a goodness that got side tracked and beaten back by life. I thought I could help him, and he trusted me." He fell silent.

She felt protective of him in that moment and selfish for not understanding fully what Neal meant to him.

"This is like old times on stake out," she broke the awkward silence.

"Are we on a stake out, Maggie?"

"Watch….there," she pointed.

A man walks out onto the roof of the church and approaches the edge. He turns for a moment and his profile comes into view.

"Neal!" Peter's face goes white. Seized by the fear Neal may be attempting to jump, he unstrapped his seatbelt and began to bolt the car.

"It's OK, trust me," Maggie restrained him. "He's not going to jump."

"How do you know that? He cut his wrists the night June and I found him." Peter's heart was pounding in his chest, tightly against his rib cage. Although the doctor's thought it was an unintentional act, Neal was clearly capable of self-harm.

"I know, because I've watched him do this for the last two weeks."

"What?"

"I've been watching him. Every day like clockwork, he comes here. And every day at this exact time he walks out on the roof of this church and stands there."

"Why? What's going on Maggie?"

"Watch."

And exactly as the sun reached its zenith he stepped out onto the ledge and stretched his arms out to the sky. The sun bathed him in this other worldly light, effectively irradiating him with its brilliant energy. He was glowing.

"I don't believe in angels, but if I did. Neal Caffrey for all intents and purposes looks like the best freaking angel this side of heaven."

Peter couldn't disagree as he watched the transformation.

"He's drawing him out. He knows Ambrose is out there waiting, watching. He's bringing Snow to him. It's brilliant."

"Neal is many things and he has many talents, but he's no match for that monster."

"That's why we will be there, waiting. Waiting for Ambrose to make his move, we'll get to him first."

"I don't like this Maggie. I don't like Neal using himself as bait and I don't like you out here alone."

"What are our choices? Callaway has you on desk duty and I heard your review is coming up."

"How did you hear about that?"

"I still have friends, but not enough to get this case restarted. The Bureau is not going to put any more resources on this without credible evidence Snow is still here."

"Credible evidence for the Violent Crimes Division usually entails a body. I have a bad feeling about this, Maggie."

**wcwcwc**

Next day Neal is in the office early, laughing with Jones, flirting with the new temp. Peter is torn between confronting him with the truth of what he knows and the risks of him going to ground. His instincts are screaming at him. He decides to float a trial balloon.

"How about lunch today? Your choice, I'm paying. You have to eat sometime."

"I have my therapy sessions at noon, but you already know that. What is it Peter?"

"You tell me."

"I get it. You don't trust me."

"I want to trust you, Neal. But you have to admit this is a pretty remarkable transformation."

"Look, the medications are kicking in. My psychiatrist said it takes three to four weeks to see results. I'm trying to move on. I thought you would be happy."

"I just want it to be real."

"Hey, if it's working," the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Don't worry."

He almost believed him. Almost.

Amanda Callaway sat in her office as Peter entered. She motioned for him to take a seat. He knew he was treading on shaky ground. The anger he felt was rolling off him in waves. Her actions directly contributed to Christie's death and Snow's escape, but he had to tamp it down somehow.

"Peter, let's clarify a few things."

"Please. By all means, go ahead."

"You have served the Bureau with distinction and earned a lot of good will over the years. And if I can speak frankly, that's what's keeping you here still. Please don't think that you can continue to trade on it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shook his head slightly.

"I think you do. I'm giving you a chance Peter to put things right," her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. "I know you've been in contact with Agent Grace. You've been officially removed from any involvement on the Snow case."

He is supposed to be meeting Maggie on their stakeout of Neal at the church later and he is reminded of her warning about Callaway.

"Maggie and I are old friends and we have continued to remain in contact. Do you have something specific?"

"I can't prove it, yet. But...I will. And if I find that you have violated that directive, it will be grounds for summary dismissal. I've asked Agent Jones to monitor all your activities for the time being. That will be all Peter."

**wcwwcw**

He felt the silence as if the magnificent old cathedral was sound proofed. The stain glassed windows were backlit by the noon day sun. It was peaceful. Neal sat on a padded pew three rows from the back. He was the only one there; confessions ended a short time earlier. He closed his eyes and let the silence wash over him as he waited.

"I don't want to intrude," a man's voice said softly. "Are you here for confession?"

"No father," he recognized the parish priest.

"I was closing up and wanted to make sure you had the opportunity. I've seen you here recently, but you don't take the sacraments or go to confession."

"Is it a requirement?"

"Oh, by no means. No," the priest smiled and tried to reassure the young man. "You just seemed to be looking for something. I never forget a face, have I met you before?"

"You have an excellent memory, father. I visited your church almost four years ago. I was with a friend."

"Yes, now I remember. We were closed and you asked if I would let in your friend. He was struggling with an issue of fidelity."

The irony of that comment caught him off guard, as he recalled that conversation. Fidelity. Peter was the most loyal and trustworthy person he'd ever known. Peter believed in him when no one else would. He gave him a second chance, another life. Peter saved him and now it was his turn to save him.

"If you'd like to talk," the priest began, searching Neal's face. It was clear that he was troubled.

"I'm fine; just giving thanks."

"If you change your mind, our doors are always open." The priest turned to go, but a man standing in the back caught his attention. "I hope I'm not out of line, but I think someone might be following you. There's a man over there in the back."

"It's okay, I've been expecting him." Neal stands and offers the priest his hand, "Thank you."

On the roof the sun is shining brightly but its warmth is no match for the coldness in his heart. He knows what he has to do. He has to pull off the biggest con of his life. Perfecting self-control is what he did, you learn your limits and then you push them.

"I know your there," he said calmly.

Ambrose stepped into the daylight.

Emotions can be easily faked. He knew that better than most, but the vengeance he felt was getting harder and harder to contain. Every word he said now needed to be deliberate, chosen to produce the response he wanted.

He forced himself not to back up. He took a slow step forward heart pounding, then a second step, then a third, until Ambrose was in reach.

"Forgive me," he let tears well up into his eyes. "I let my pride blind me to the grace of our Father. I turned away from his will. In this I have failed you." He took another step closer and into Ambrose's embrace.

"This is a shell and it will fall away as all your sin and suffering. Your true beauty will be revealed. You were God's choice," he whispers.

Ambrose began to weep. He had waited and suffered patiently, but he knew he would come to him. He had never faltered. Then as if God himself had answered him directly, his angel was finally with him. He will save him, fulfilling his mission. His soul would fly when this body was no more.

"We are not alone," Ambrose says quietly.

"I know," Neal almost felt faint as he inhaled Ambrose's cold breath against his cheek. He nodded in agreement toward the rental car parked across the street.

"Come to me, tonight. I will guide you," Ambrose retreated back into the shadows.

**wcwcwc**

The sun passed its zenith and still no appearance from Neal. Maggie began to feel apprehensive. She saw him enter the church at his regular time. Where the hell was Peter?

"Where are you? her fingers curled around her phone. "I thought you were going to meet me?"

"It's a long story, but I've been detained. Where's Neal?"

"I don't know. He didn't put on his usual light show. I'm going to check it out."

"Maggie…"

"I'll call you right back," she disconnected the call.

The church was virtually empty except for an older woman at the devotionals and the priest putting up notices on the large bulletin board.

"Can I help you?" he asked as she entered breathing rather quickly.

"Yes father, I'm looking for a man who came in earlier," she flashed her badge.

"Slim, handsome, in a suit?" He was pretty certain it was the young man he encountered earlier.

"Yes, that sounds like him. Have you seen him?"

"About ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago; it was strange."

"How so?" she asked.

"I thought there was someone following him. I urged him to be careful, but he said he was expecting the man and then he left. Is he in trouble?"

"Father is there another way out of here?"

"Why yes, the stairs from the bell tower on the roof lead down into the alley at the back".

"Peter."

"Maggie, talk to me. What did you find?

"He gave me the slip," her voice was shaky. "He made me. Neal knew. Neal's meeting Ambrose."

"We can't let him go through with this. It's done, over. I'm going to have Jones bring him in."

"Peter this may be our only chance to catch a serial killer, to put Snow somewhere he'll never see the light of day again….put an end to this. We can track Neal; we have access to his data."

"I don't have access; the only one with that access is Callaway."

"We have to get her to turn it over. I have a hunch, you work on Callaway."

"Don't do anything stupid, Maggie."

"Too late," she thought as she hung up.

**Wcwwc**

As Peter approached Callaway's office he knew the consequences of the decision he'd made, but the cost was worth it. He couldn't risk Neal's life. She listened to everything he had to say, a curt nod now and then to indicate her understanding of the situation.

"So based on the discredited theory of Agent Grace and your gut, you are asking that I put at your disposal the resources of this department on what sounds like nothing more than a witch hunt?"

He was trying not to explode. "Whatever you think of Agent Grace's theories, you know what Snow is capable of, and you know he is fixated with Neal. Given the circumstances of our last conversation, I would not be coming to you if I didn't feel this was of extreme importance."

"Peter, you let your feelings override your judgment and there's no place for that in the White Collar Division I'm working to rebuild. Neal Caffrey called in sick earlier. His tracking data shows he is at home."

Peter sat back in his chair. Stunned, he watched Callaway call Agent Jones into the small conference room.

"Agent Jones, Agent Burke is temporarily relieved of his duties pending a full review. Until then I want you to monitor his activities as I suspect he may be involved in an unauthorized investigation."

Bewildered, Jones takes Peter back to his office. "Peter, you want to tell me what just happened back there?"

"It's a long story, Clinton. And I wish I had time to tell you, but right now I need your help."

"Anything. You got it."

"Can you pull up Neal's tracking data?"

He was on the phone as Jones typed in the information, "Maggie I got access, where are you?"

"I followed my gut. I'm at the observatory on the Snow estate; it's where it all started for Ambrose. His first vision of the angel, his first dissection took place here. This is where he will come to be transformed."

**Part Two**

_"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." Ernest Hemingway_

She was prepared to wait things out no matter how long it took. She settled back for the long haul. As the sun set, the last dying rays put on a show of the old Victorian structure with its enormous glass panes. She was back off the old access road in a stand of trees, thick enough to obscure her from view. The estate itself stretched down to the edge of the lake on its northern most part. The incongruity of the idyllic setting and the horrific brutality that happened a hundred yards away chilled her. Little remained of the grand family home in the weeds and grass that grew up after its destruction. A stark reminder of where Ambrose murdered his entire family, burned them alive.

The sun had gone completely down and still no sign of either Neal or Ambrose. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket almost precipitating a full blown panic attack. She wasn't aware of just how tense she was. The screen showed it was Peter.

"Maggie, what do you have?"

"Nothing so far, what do you have on your end?"

"Neal's tracking data show he's still at home. Callaway won't budge on providing any help. Keep me posted, and promise to be careful."

She sat back to wait. The eeriness of the place wasn't helped by the mist that was rolling in from the lake. For a moment she thought she saw something, but there was no one there. She loosened the safety on her weapon. In the dark the diamond paned monolith sparkled like a gem in the moonlight, her heart began to settle back into its normal rhythm. She saw him too late.

Clinton rushed into the small area, "Peter, Neal is on the move."

"Okay, keep tracking him." He pulled out his cell, "Maggie, its Peter. Pick up. Maggie!"

"Go, Jones squeezed his shoulder. I'll keep you posted on Caffrey."

Maggie wakes up bound hand and foot seated at a large table, groggy from the injection. She's not sure how long she's been out. It takes a while to get oriented, but soon she recognizes the glass walls of the observatory. Shiver frissons up her spine.

"I'm so glad you could join us," Ambrose said his voice detached. He carefully unrolled a set of dissecting instruments onto the table next to her.

"I didn't have much of a choice." Her heart was a drum. What now? Keep talking she told herself, as her throat was closing from fear.

"This place has special significance for you. This is where your first dissections took place."

"You're familiar with my work."

"I am. Why don't you untie me so we can talk?"

"I don't think you're going to have that much time," his green eyes glittered with menace. He disappeared briefly and returned with two large cans, accelerants. She realized he planned to recreate the deaths of his family.

"Does he know you plan to murder him?"

"That is where you are wrong. We will transform. Our souls will fly, once we shed these useless bodies. I only plan to murder you." He smiled as he sensed her fear, and then forced the gag into her mouth. "We wouldn't want your screaming to alert anyone, would we?"

**wcwcwc**

Peter pulled off the highway and onto the access road that lead to the Snow estate. He decided just in case Snow was lurking, he'd proceed the rest of the way on foot. She was out here, in danger. He could feel it. As he rounded the path, there it was Maggie's car; still running and empty. His heart sank.

"Damn...Goddamit...Damn. He should never have let her go. That psychotic bastard had her. What if he hurt her...he would never forgive himself." Fear was tearing at him. He had to find her. He was calling Jones for back up, when it hit him. He felt as if he grabbed hold of a live wire. It knocked him back, his cell phone jangled against the car door.

"Hello Agent Burke, we meet again."

Peter struggled to pull his gun, but it slipped from his hand as the powerful drug coursed through his body. No! This wasn't happening. But it was and he was powerless to stop it. Ambrose pushed him down into the car as his body lost all control.

"Don't worry about your friend, she's in good hands. It's a funny thing about curare. With just the right dose you can immobilize a person. However just the slightest bit more and it effectively paralyzes all the organs essential to sustain life."

Ambrose stooped and swung Peter's legs into the vehicle, carefully arranging his head against the back rest. "You were wrong about him. He came to me of his own free will. Goodbye Agent Burke, I have some unfinished business to attend to."

Peter struggled to hang on, to stay conscious. His heart wrenching at the thought of Maggie and Neal at the hands of that sick bastard. Every breath now was agonizing, as he fought the blackness over taking him.

**wcwcwc**

Neal had the driver drop him a little distance back from the main entry, the address Ambrose gave him to his childhood home. He didn't want to take any chances he was being followed. It was completely dark now. Making his way to the observatory, he tried to stay focused. He had a lot of ground to cover, he needed to concentrate. He felt prepared, until he saw Peter's Taurus pulled off to the side of the access road. His mind began racing as he picked up the pace. He felt sure he had eluded him, but then again it was Peter.

As he approached the stand of trees up ahead, another car was idling.

"Shit." Had Ambrose changed the plan? He peered into the darkness, was he hidden in the shadows waiting to surprise him. He cautiously approached the still running car.

"Peter!" His mind went into overdrive. Peter was sitting in the passenger seat. His face was white and his lips blue. Although his eyes were open he made no notice of Neal, he was completely still, almost as if frozen in place. "Jesus," he felt his neck and there was a faint pulse, but slowing. He'd been poisoned, he was certain. He pulled the curare antidote from his pocket and plunged it into Peter's shoulder.

"C'mon Peter. That's it. Breathe." It seemed like an eternity, but finally his breathing improved and the color returned to his face. Peter tried to clear his throat; Neal squeezed his hand to reassure him.

"What are you doing here?" Neal asked when it was clear Peter had come around.

"He has Maggie."

"What?"

"She knew he would come here and she came to stop him. You came here prepared, with that antidote to use on yourself."

"I'll get her back."

"We will get her back. Just...just give me a minute."

"No, Peter. This ends for you now," he cuffed Peter's hands to the steering wheel.

"What are you doing? Don't be crazy," Peter yells.

"I'm not going to let him hurt you, Peter. I'm not going to let him hurt anyone else."

"What, by offering yourself up as some kind of sacrificial lamb? Neal, look at me. Please. We can work this out together."

"Don't do this."

"I don't have a choice."

"What are you saying Neal? I'm not going to see you again, am I?"

"You saved my life, Peter. You saved me." He swallowed hard and closed the passenger door behind him.

"Neal, Neal...!"

**Wcwwc**

With each step his gut tightened as he made his way through the thick undergrowth. As he rounded the path the old observatory came into full view. With the antidote gone, he had two choices. He had to kill Ambrose or disable him. Anything else he was dead and so was Maggie. Thinking of Maggie and what she might be going through, he took off at a dead sprint.

The large wooden door was slightly ajar. He stepped inside.

"Maggie?" he said softly. "Maggie..."

"Welcome," a voice said from behind him. It was Ambrose. He could feel the malevolence on him. "So you know our intruder," he smiled.

"Where is she Ambrose?"

"Here, in the ante room." He turned into the grand room off the hallway. Maggie was bound and gagged, leaning heavily against a large table in the center of the room. Blood was pooling under her right arm. Neal shot forward only to be restrained by Ambrose.

"Please, she has nothing to do with us," he wrested his arm from Ambrose's grip.

"She came here to stop our transformation!" his face tight with rage.

"She can't. She doesn't understand us and people fear what they don't understand," it was critical that he convince Ambrose he was on his side. Ambrose stood still and fixed his gaze on Neal, the fury that flared in him momentarily settling.

Ambrose wanted the stains removed from his soul. If he could reference his argument in terms of goodness maybe they stood a chance. Everything would be a waste if he blew the final act.

"Our father has given us the dual instruments of justice and mercy. Our choices of those affirm his creation of us. Show mercy."

Ambrose stepped aside and let him go to Maggie. The wounds on her arm weren't that deep. He'd gotten there just in time. He used his belt to make a tourniquet on her trembling arm, as Ambrose stalked up and down. Gently he removed the gag.

"You're going to be okay. I'm going to get you out of here."

She nodded as Neal undid her bindings. She slumped forward momentarily, her face coming within inches of Ambrose's tools. She shuddered involuntarily as her eyes fell on the scalpel lying so close. Next to it were two syringes, one empty presumably the one Ambrose had used on her.

She looked up and met his gaze and knew in a vicious moment of clarity Neal planned to use the injection on Ambrose. It was their only shot. She saw him lift it as he bent to undo the bindings on her legs.

Neal straightened and approached Ambrose hand outstretched in a gesture of thanks. As Ambrose moved forward his eyes glittering, his fingertips scraped against the syringe concealed in Neal's hand. He grabbed hold of the smaller man forcing him backwards against the table until the object fell from his hand.

"Why?" his face filled with confusion and betrayal. "You asked for mercy and I gave it. Mercy that was never given to me."

Maggie was on her feet next to Neal, "Come with me, Neal," she was pleading. She sagged against him. "He's going to kill you."

"Leave this place!" Ambrose bellowed his face filled with rage.

Neal pressed the small key into her palm and whispered, "Take this to Peter. He's in your car," he knew there was a good chance he wasn't coming out of this alive. "Run!" Sobbing, she stumbled out into the night.

"Why, after everything I've sacrificed for you? We are the chosen, we are family."

"Your family is dead. You murdered them, burned them alive," he'd reached the limits of his self-control.

"What more do you want. What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" he was unraveling. "I want back the lives of the people you stole; I want you out of my life. You're not going to heaven, you're not going to become anything more than you are, you sick bastard."

"Stop!" he backhands him across the face with the flat of his hand. Neal staggers backward his lip split open.

"Did you believe all that crap Ambrose?" He wiped the blood away with his hand. "Your God's choice," he began to laugh hysterically. "All the things you prayed for are a lie! I lie for a living." he said with satisfaction.

"Stop it. Stop, I said." Ambrose's lips pulled back in a terrible grimace. The voices thundered in his brain.

He grabbed Neal's throat with both hands, hands filled with rage. He stared into his wide, blue, terrified eyes and began to squeeze with all his strength. Neal fought him hard, with more strength than he ever imagined, but he was no match for the bigger man's hold.

The faces of all Ambrose's tormenters came to him, their mouths twisted in agony as he burned, cut and obliterated them. He continued to squeeze until he heard what sounded like the last gasp from the man under his hand. Until the light left his eyes. Until there was nothing, no sound. Nothing. He let go.

"What have I done?" he cried.

Then he heard it, a faint whisper. He stood stock still as the ancient terror welled inside him. The familiar hissing sound, gaining strength until it echoed through the glass canyon of the observatory with such a force as to shatter it to pieces. They were screaming in a language he had never understood. Would they never leave him?

"Look what you've made me do!" he shrieked as Neal slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. His hands cramping from the pain of the grasp he had on him, he stared at the lifeless body at his feet. He screamed a soul splintering cry.

Neal opened his eyes with a jolt, exhaling convulsively, warmth returning to his body, eyes stinging with tears. Ambrose sank down beside him, his face a mask of confusion and fear. He pulled him close to him.

"Get away from me!" Neal's voice was hoarse. He was shaking badly.

Ambrose overpowered the struggling man pressing him against him. Neal tried to jerk back, shove away, but Ambrose grabbed his wrists.

"What is this? He looked at the scaring on his wrists. "What did you do?"

"I'd rather be dead than with you," he choked out.

"No. No. No!" he wails. "I was promised. You promised me," he stares up at the night sky.

He began to chant erip animum meam, eripe animum meam, while dousing the room in the accelerant.

Neal struggled to his feet as Ambrose took the discarded syringe and plunged it into his outstretched arm. The drug pulsed through his body as he struggled to pull a lighter from his jacket. The flame flickered in the darkened room and then falls as does his arm, now hanging uselessly by his side.

At first Neal is transfixed. The fire dances along the table and then travels across the floor in undulating waves. Ambrose is engulfed, unable to flee unable to move. Neal blinks as the room fills with smoke. Ambrose's face is lit and flickering. He is watching him grimly, his mouth open, _forgive me._ There is fire can hear it, consuming the air from around him. Choking he falls to his knees, gagging and coughing he crawls in the direction of the huge door.

He screams in agony when his hand makes contact with the white hot handle. He can feel his skin sizzle as hot floating bits of ash fall. He vomits. Then there is another burst. It started as a hum, but now it was reverberating through the space. And then with a horrible scream of twisting metal and shattered glass the massive ceiling gave way. This was his last chance; he threw his weight against the door and prayed, "Please, God."

**wcwcwc**

Maggie forced her way forward, pain screaming in her arm. She didn't care. Her skin crawled with the thought of Neal being trapped with that monster. She remembered the hatred in his eyes when he cut into her flesh. _Don't do this. Concentrate. She had to make it in time. _ She saw it, her car.

Peter heard the footsteps running toward him, "Maggie!" he cried.

"He's got Neal! He's got Neal!" she was crying uncontrollably. "Peter, Ambrose has him. He has him." It took a moment for her get a grip and see that Peter was handcuffed to the steering wheel.

"Here, he gave this to me." Peter took the key from her shaking hands and unlocked himself.

"You're bleeding!

"I'm okay. We don't have time. Neal doesn't have time."

"Stay here," Peter holstered his gun and started for the observatory.

"There is no way in hell I'm staying here. I'm going with you. Go!"

They were running, half tumbling down the dark path. Time was precious. Moonlight reflecting off the observatory dome illuminated the way. Her arm was throbbing but she didn't care all that mattered was they find Neal in time, that he was safe. The top of the observatory came into view, only a little farther. Peter heard it before he saw it; a low rumbling sound followed by an ear shattering blast. The force of it literally knocked him and Maggie to the ground. Maggie's heart was pounding in her ears as she watched the night sky turn to day. The enormous fireball filled the sky over head.

Peter struggled to his feet, horrified he watched as the twisted steel and molten glass wreckage collapse in on itself.

"No! No! He ran forward to the inferno.

"Peter, Stop!" She was holding onto him with everything she had. "Stop, he's gone. No one could survive that."

He sank to his knees. taking Maggie with him.

"Neal," he gasped. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I lost him, Maggie. I lost him."

"Peter, I'm so sorry." She folded him into her arms.

"Neal!" Maggie cried in a mixture of disbelief and joy. Peter looked up and saw Neal standing in the clearing, barely. His gaze firmly fixed on his. Within seconds he was by his partner's side, taking his weight as he collapsed against him.

"I got you buddy. You're Ok. You're going to be Ok."

"Peter, it's over. He's gone. Ambrose is gone."

Neal woke up in the hospital, his hand was restrained to the bed, and he began to panic.

"Hey, it's okay. You got a pretty bad burn, second degree." Peter laid his hand on Neal's arm and he settled down. "Your doctor says it should heal with no scaring." He blinked, and looked down at the bandage covering his right hand. Getting his bearings, he tried to sit up, prompting a round of coughing.

"Here take this," Peter brought a glass of water over from the small bedside table.

"How long have I been out?"

"Not long, they gave you some pain medication and you've been sleeping."

"How do you feel?"

"Like a building fell on me."

He drew in a deep breath, well as deep as his lungs allowed. "Ambrose?"

Maggie and Jones walked in, "Look who joined the land of the living? He's dead Neal. The lab is running the DNA on the remains found at the site, but I'm pretty sure they'll confirm what we already know. No one could have survived that."

"I did," he said quietly.

They all knew what he was thinking, but it was impossible. "More good news, folks," Jones came around and stood by Peter. "AD Callaway has been relieved of all her duties. It appears she manipulated Neal's tracking data."

"What?" Peter's hackles went up, way up.

"The tracking data showed Neal at home when Peter asked for help with surveillance and back up."

"I never went back home," Neal said slightly confused.

"Exactly. She wanted to thwart the investigation and trap Peter in a violation."

"Thanks to some great work by Agent Jones, Maggie broke in. We were able to trace her involvement. Let's just say, obstructing a Bureau investigation and a high profile one to boot, is not exactly a career starter."

"Speaking of careers, I saved the best for last. Peter you have been fully reinstated. Welcome back boss," he grinned. I am going to wrap up my report. Take care Neal."

Peter's relief at having his old job back was tempered by the information he was just handed. Maggie could see it in his face. She knew he needed to talk with Neal. Alone.

"Listen guys, it's been a long night. I think I'm going to pack it in. Neal, don't let Peter get into any trouble when I'm gone. She leaned over kissed his cheek and squeezed his good hand. "Thank you for saving my life," she whispered.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked.

"I don't know yet. It'll be the first time in my life I don't have a plan. But whatever I come up with, you can bet it won't involve chasing homicidal maniacs. She hugged Peter tightly, "Take care of him."

Peter ran his hand through his hair and gazed down at Neal. "I knew Callaway was arrogant, ruthless even; but I never figured she would go to this length. To put your life in that kind of danger Neal."

"You couldn't have known. Not everyone would risk their career for a CI."

"You do know you're more than my CI. When I thought I had lost you tonight….I..." his voice trailed off. Are you going to be Okay Neal?"

"I thought I was going to die tonight, Peter. I was prepared for it. But then I wasn't. I didn't want to die. I knew I wanted to live. I kept hearing you say, you had faith in me." His throat caught as he remembered the day he walked out of prison. "Truth is you've given me the best deal I could ever have imagined."

"Deal is we have faith in each other, Neal. Damn right we have a deal and I not going anywhere." He sat down.

The end

**Author's Note**

Thanks so much to all of you for your generous support of this story through your wonderful reviews, adding me to your alerts and favorites. I know this is really long. I planned it in two chapters. But I felt it wasn't fair to drag out the suspense any longer. It was a blast to write.

I want to take a moment to reply to two PM messages I received. One suggested I might better use my writing to present stories that don't deal with such violent and horrible themes. The writer thought I might have a broader appeal and generate more interest in my work, if I stuck to the canon. I think this is a fair point. Not everyone enjoys this genre. This was not your typical White Collar story. That being said, there is a large audience of readers in the suspense/horror genre. The works of Thomas Harris and Stephen King come to mind.

Another reader said they gave up on the story, because they were tired of stories where Neal is just beaten and tortured for no reason and made into a weak character. I'm not sure how fair that point is. Admittedly, there was a lot of violence, and dead bodies along the way here, but it was never the guiding motive. I wish the reader had not given up and continued. Constructive criticism and healthy debate are always welcomed. I set out to write a story about friendship, love, loss and redemption. I'll let you guys be the judges of whether I was successful or not.

Thanks for your patience and your time.


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